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The Love of My Life Is Hiding In: Berlin

I’m in Berlin and the love of my life might be here, too.

He’s from a small town in Germany, and he actually hates big cities. But he’s here for work, in a field I find boring—finance or something else uptight. He’s a workaholic and, at first, I think he may be boring, too.

The Love of My Life Is Hiding In: Copenhagen

I’m in Copenhagen, and the love of my life might be here, too.

He’s tall and tattooed. Not very attractive, and yet I’m very attracted to him. It’s something about the effortlessness in which he carries himself. He stands out without meaning to, but fits perfectly next to me.

The Love of My Life Is Hiding In: Tétouan

I’m in Tétouan, Morocco, and the love of my life might be here, too.

He’s a writer, maybe. Maybe a painter. Maybe both. Some creative, reclusive type. He works hard at a button-up job that’s fulfilling enough nine months a year so that he can spend long summers doing what he really loves. He rents lonely cottages in foreign villages and empty hillsides and out-of-the-way small towns where he writes things most people won’t ever read or paints things most people won’t ever see.

American Writer in Germany: 8 Months

Everyone wish Hamburg and me a happy anniversary! It’s just a couple days shy of 8 months and I STILL don’t hate it. I’m not sure if this city really is that great, or if I’m just getting older, or if maybe there’s something in the water here, but whatever it is, I’m still pretty content. And if you know me, you know I usually hit my Over It stage by month six, so this is kind of a big deal.

Despite having been here a while, there’s still a ton of new things I’m learning and discovering, so here you go: an 8-month-mark list of my thoughts, feelings, and observations about Hamburg.

The Love of My Life Is Hiding In: Stockholm

I’m in Stockholm and the love of my life might be here, too.

He’s the kind of guy that wears eyeglasses because they look cool, not because he can’t see, and turtlenecks, and boots without laces, and long pea coats. I roll my eyes when he glances as his reflection in one too many mirrors we pass on our first date, and call him a pretty boy—which he is—but he’s more than that, too.